The wizard walked up to the door and hit it a few times with his staff. Nothing.
He gave it a small push with his hand – still nothing. But, you have to check. Few things are worse than spending hours casting all kinds of spells only to find out that the door is not locked. That happens to more wizards then they would like to admit.
This was a new door, the wood was no more than a year old. He could feel the freshness of the spells, powerful ones too; this could take weeks.
The wizard sat down in front of the door with his left hand out. He imbued the door with just a bit of magic, not a lot, but just enough to get the life back into the wood.
He lit his pipe, and began…“So are you happy being a door?”
Two hours later a very angry door was lumbering down a snow covered hill with murder in its heart.
“A door!” it thought “Of all the wonderful things I could have been. A chair for royalty, a table where friends and family meet and feast, a door to protect people and give them…. SON OF A BITCH!”